Chapter Thirty-Six: Drunken Outer-Monologues
Lydia was awoken from her slumber in the middle of the day by a knock on the front door. "Who in the world?" she mumbled to herself, rubbing her eyes and probably smearing gobs of caked on mascara on her face. Yeah, she really needed to wash that nasty club makeup off. She slid off her sofa, walking barefoot on her cold floor as she stood on her tiptoes, glancing through the peephole. "Oh shit!" she hissed under her breath, realizing the cleaning lady showed up. Just how long had she been in the Neitherworld?
She backed away from the door, eyeing her surroundings. Honestly, she wouldn't put that mess on her worst enemy. On second thought, maybe she would. A sly expression crept across her features as she barely cracked the door open.
"Do you need me to do any routine cleaning today, Ms. Deetz?" the elderly lady asked, her sweet grandmotherly tone and demeanor making her doubly sure that she wouldn't make the poor woman clean the trash heap HE helped her create.
"Oh, that won't be necessary. Thank you though." Lydia returned the sweet smile, hoping the woman would scurry off and leave her in her filth heap.
"Are you sure? It's been some time. I could use the work, to be honest. I'm a little short on my hours this week." the lady offered again, apparently in a spot.
Lydia thought for a moment, the guilt hitting her hard like it was apt to do. "Hold that thought." she held up her index finger, before closing and locking the door behind her. When she reopened it, she held a large wad of cash in her hand, the already wary cleaning lady's eyes wide as she hesitantly took the money.
"Are you sure about this? Is everything okay?" she asked, eyeing Lydia from the other side of the cracked door.
"Never been better. I hope that helps." Lydia smiled widely, as she woman began to smile a bit herself.
"Thank you! Well, you have a marvelous day." she beamed.
"Yeah, you too." Lydia smiled, quickly waving her off as she quickly closed and locked the door again. "Whew. That was close." she eyed the trash that littered her floors. He wasn't there yet, but she knew now that he'd be back. He always came back. "What the hell." she shrugged, realizing that she had nothing but time to kill. "Might as well." Lydia grabbed a nearby garbage can, tossing her wreck of a past into it. She didn't like all that gross shit, anyway. It was time she had things her way again.
...
It was well into the night, and a very sweaty Lydia found herself plopping into her kitchen chair, pulling her cleaning gloves off and popping the top off one of her last bottles of expensive wine. She watched it pour into a crystal goblet, smiling as she began to eye all the work she'd done. "Heh. And I won't even be here in three months." she chuckled happily, feeling both cathartic and human again. It felt good not to be in such a rush that she couldn't clean her own place anymore. It was far better than clacking out the door in Gucci heels and letting a stranger clean her living space. She may have been on her way to going broke, but she felt wonderful.
It was just as the still of the night fell over her, that her stomach began to grumble. "When was the last time I've eaten?" she asked the air, rummaging through her nearly empty fridge and cabinets. She finally found a half-eaten stale bag of tortilla chips wadded up, shrugging and grabbing it. "Eh, not too bad." she smelled inside it, before reaching in and grabbing some busted chips, shoving them in her mouth, before giggling to herself. It was pretty reminiscent of her early college days, and that brought a warm smile to her lips. That same hope Adam and Barbara had given her that she could do anything she set her mind followed her there, and it was slowly burning back into her.
"Oh, I know what this needs!" she quickly stood up, taking her wine bottle and chips with her, before darting off to her bedroom. She clicked on her radio, hitting the button a few times until it landed on a nice, upbeat song. "Perfect!" she exclaimed, before sliding into bed and indulging herself.
...
A loud crash in the night caused Lydia to spring up out of bed, slinging chip crumbs everywhere. "Oh no." she gasped under her breath. Only rough, grainy static blared from her radio, as she quietly stepped over, clicking it off. He must've crashed back in somewhere, though she found it oddly silent. She crept through her apartment, peeking around a corner and looking into the living room. No one.
"That's odd." her face twisted in confusion, as she heard the small clank of glass hitting the floor in her bathroom. She made her way toward the sound, pressing her ear against the door.
"Fuckin' bitch..." she heard him grumble from the other side of the door; his words slurred from obvious consumption of a shit ton of booze.
"Great." she said flatly, opening the door on him. She was getting really tired of those nasty names he was calling her. "You called for me?" she smiled sweetly, making sure to drip with extra sarcasm just for him.
Beetlejuice was splayed out on the floor, an empty beer at his side. He slowly raised up. "Wut?"
"You don't have to call me a bitch, BJ." she said, realizing that it did sting a bit.
"Trixy. I was talkin' about Trixy, Deetz." he grunted, wiping a hand over his face, appearing defeated. That was different.
"Yeah, she likes to stir up trouble." Lydia stepped inside, squatting down beside him, curious to when he'd blow up and scream in her face again.
"Yeah, but it ain't that." he sighed, staggering to his feet, nearly knocking her over in the process. Okay, she'd never quite seen him like that.
"What is it, BJ?" she stood up, trying to steady him before he fell over again. God, he was trashed. Did he even know where he was?
"Her and Fuckface ganged up on me an' thew my ass outta' my own place." he shrugged, staggering a bit and bumping into her again.
"Hey...Come here..." she began to feel a bit concerned, though she probably shouldn't have. Lydia took his forearm, leading him to her sofa. "Heh. Guess that prune-faced ole' cleanin' lady must ah paid a visit." he drawled, apparently noticing her apartment no longer looked like an abominable trash heap.
"Uh, yeah. She did." Lydia shrugged, as he plopped down, seeing it pointless to explain anything to him at the moment. She studied him, as his lazy gaze fell on her. "How would they run you out? I'm pretty sure you could take them both." Lydia asked him, seating herself beside him.
"Two words, Deetz." he slurred, holding up two moldy fingers. "Fuckin', stupid pigs."
Okay, that was three, but whatever. "What?" Lydia asked, a bit confused at first.
"Cops, Babe. They didn't physically remove my ass. The fuckers threatened to call the fuzz on me. She knows I'm goin' up here to the breather world already. Said they'd rat my ass out if I came back." he muttered defeatedly, juicing another beer in his hand and popping the top off with his grimy teeth, before spitting it in the floor, causing Lydia to slightly frown. "Guess she finally got tired ah my ass, after all. Didn't think the little skank had it in her."
"Oh." Lydia nodded, noting that his guard was down enough to call her the non-bitch, B-word again. "Well, you know you can always crash here." she shrugged, stepping over and picking the ghost-spit covered bottle lid up off her floor.
"Yeah, yeah...We're roomies an' all that shit." he slurred, chugging the rest of his beer and tossing it to the side, as Lydia sighed through her nose, picking it up.
She then promptly dragged a trash can over to him. "Here."
"Heh...You gonna start bossin' me around too, now?" he snorted, already on his third beer in five minutes.
"No. Would you please put them in the trash, BJ?" she asked him as politely as possible, hoping not to start another riot.
He simply looked her over with his dead mackerel eyes, before biting the lid off of it and spitting it in the trash. It actually worked. That was completely unexpected.
"Thanks." she replied, as he remained silent for once, eyeing her as he loudly slurped his beer down, trickles of it running down his mossy neck. He likely barely knew where he was, if she had to be honest with herself. Maybe she could figure out just what he was plotting against her if she gently prodded him with some questions. Of course, she had to be nonchalant about it and not jump right into interrogation mode. "I know you don't want my advice, but I probably wouldn't get back with Trixy if I were you." she started, opening up the conversation again.
"No chance ah' that shit. I wouldn't touch her with Bill's dick." he chuckled, obviously far too wasted to be super hostile at that point.
"That's probably a good thing." Lydia pondered aloud. "At least she'll stop playing with your emotions now. You can let it go."
"Eh, guess so." he shrugged. "Jealous broad." he started chuckling to himself, as he wiped traces of beer from his lips. "She can't stand seein' me with a hotter chick than her."
Lydia swallowed back the strange unease she suddenly felt. It was just such an awkward feeling to hear him say that. "I don't know about that." she mumbled to herself nervously, though he picked up on what she was saying apparently, though she didn't think he would.
"Why the hell do ya do that, Deetz? Do ya want me to say somethin', er..." he began mumbling wasted questions of his own.
"Say something? Like what?" she asked, feeling even more curious.
"Ha! You know how ya look. I don't gotta stroke yer ego about it." he snorted again, though he was eyeing her up and down. His inhibitions were certainly lacking, and some very interesting things were coming out.
"Just how do I look, BJ?" she scooted a bit closer to him, hoping to hear him say the truth. "You talk about it quite a lot to never say anything."
"You really ain't lettin' it go, huh?" he smirked. "Eh, what the hell? Ya look better than any stripper I ever seen. Happy now?"
No. No she wasn't. She was uncomfortable. "Um, thanks, I guess."
"See? That's why I don't say shit to ya. You act like I'm breathin' ebola in yer face." he admitted, and Lydia knew at that point, that she really did have the upper hand. He was afraid to say anything to her, deep down.
"It's not that." she quickly intervened, partly attempting to perform damage control, partly not wanting to hurt him, strangely enough. "It's just weird because you hate me, BJ."
"What's wrong with hatin' a hot chick? Happens all the time." he remarked, and she did frown a bit.
"I know. I just don't want you to hate me, BJ." she restated once more, internally questioning herself as to just why it mattered so much. "I try to be nice to you. I want to be, but you just seem to hate me that much more. I don't know what I can do at this point."
"I uh... " he paused a moment, only to mumble something inaudible under his breath.
"Huh?" Lydia's eyes grew wide, as he dropped another beer into her wastebasket, juicing another into his hand, as he drunkenly fiddled with the lid, finally prying it open and sloshing it on himself. Truthfully, he looked like he'd pass out any moment, so Lydia figured she'd better hurry up and get something out of him while she had the opportunity.
"I said I dunno 'bout that." he leaned forward, nearly falling into her in his drunken stupor.
"Okay...Do you like me?" she asked quickly, while he was still awake.
"Oh, yeah..." he growled. "Too much. Yer too damned evil to like that much." he said, nearly dropping his beer.
"Evil? I've been trying to be the opposite. I don't get it?" she asked, pushing aside the fact that he was spewing some heavy drunken truths at her.
"Ya ruined everything. I can't let that shit go. Don't want ya to win, Babe. You gotta go down." he finally blurted out a vital piece of information. So, he was plotting on doing something to her. The question was just what that something was.
"BJ, what are you going to do?" Lydia asked warily, though he didn't seem to give a shit at that point. Something told her the sober version of him would probably die again right about now. Not until after he murdered her first, that is.
"Like I'm gonna tell yer ass!" he burst out in a fit of hysterical laughter, before waving it off. "Ah, hell, yer not real anyway. Heh, weird fuckin' dream... So, what the hell, amirite?" he snorted, twirling his index finger in a circle and nearly poking Lydia in the face in the process. "I'm gonna ruin yer life, Deetz, and no amount of nice ass, or tits..." he paused, ogling her enough to make her scoot farther away from him. "Or sticky sweet bullshit will change my mind. Yer goin' down, Babe! AHAHAHA! Yer done for! Finished! Doneski! Zip! Zilch! No more! Once ya marry me, I'm gone fer good, Babe!" he gloated, not fully aware that he wasn't already passed out in the floor tripping balls.
"I thought you couldn't marry me, BJ." Lydia instantly recoiled. Was he lying about that too? Had she felt extra guilty for nothing?
"That's what she thinks." he winked at her, continuing his drunken blabbering. "I'll force her to put a ring on it, then she'll never see my ass again. So long, senorita!"
"I'm right here, you idiot. You're literally talking to me." she insulted him, forgetting to bite back her initial anger.
"Oh, I said that shit out loud? Pfffft! Ah, I'm asleep anyway. Fuck off. None ah' this shit's even here." He continued to laugh hysterically.
Oh, how wrong he was, Lydia mused to herself.
